Valentine's Day Prompts 30 Kisses
by Somnambulista
Summary: Kiss-themed prompts for the Soul Eater cast, a Valentine's Day event. Includes SoulxMaka, TsubakixBlackStar, ErukaxFree and more. Rated T to be safe! Read and review!
1. 001: Moonlight

I do not own Soul Eater; I do not profit from this writing.

**001**

_Moonlight_

Tsubaki sighed, her eyes wandering along the cityscape of Death City. It was already dark, and above her the moon hung low in the sky, teeth gritted and blood seeping from its jaws. It had been that way since she'd moved to the academy. She turned away from the window with a sigh and looked at the clock on the cable box in the apartment she and BlackStar shared. She didn't like it when he was out so late without her. She knew he was very capable, but she was used to his presence. It was her own fault this time; she'd been feeling under the weather lately because of all of the training they'd been doing, and BlackStar had made her go lay down and wouldn't take no for an answer.

She just hated being alone. Maybe that was what it was. She was so accustomed to his mannerisms that the sudden absence of his presence around their home was bothersome to her and off-putting. She sat down on the couch to try and watch a movie, bundled in her fuzzy yellow bathrobe and duck slippers, but it just wasn't the same without him leaning in to ask her questions about the plot every five minutes – or calling the movie stupid and making up his own dialogue. She pretended like it bothered her, but it was hard for her to deny that it was often more funny than what she was trying to watch.

She turned off the TV and sat there in silence, and again another sad sigh escaped her lips. She knew that she should be in bed, but she had mustered up just enough energy to feel restless. She began to clean up the empty bags of chips and soda cans and sandwich trays from the table; the remnants of BlackStar's appetite. She put the last of the dishes in the sink into the dishwasher and pressed the start button, then went back to the window. She could see the street below the apartment, and waited eagerly for BlackStar's return, but as the minutes turned into hours, she realized that it would be a late night for him.

She supposed that it would be selfish to expect for him to stay home just for her, even if she would have done the same for him. Actually, no, that wasn't entirely true. BlackStar never would allow an illness to confine him to a bed, let alone the apartment. He'd have said that he was too much of a god to catch the flu, and that would have been that. He would never have acknowledged the fact that he was sick, because to him, mind over matter was truly a way of life.

Tsubaki finally gave up wandering around the apartment around one or two in the morning. She had at least been able to get some of her schoolwork done without having to stop and talk BlackStar down from setting his own books on fire. He had been nice enough to bring her work home for the past few days, but until now she hadn't even felt well enough to peel herself out of bed and take care of any of it. This was definitely good. It was Friday night, she was totally caught up, and now she had two full days to rest. They had a test on the following Monday, so she really didn't want to fall too far behind.

She laid down in the oversized bed that she and BlackStar shared, her long hair falling around her like a silky cloak. Through the window, she could still see the moon and its homicidal gaze, and though it should have been terrifying, she knew it was only how it looked over Death City. She rolled onto her back and exhaled slowly, enjoying the cool feel of the fresh blankets against her hot skin. Her temperature had started to come up again, and she guessed she had worked a little _too_ hard on her papers. She stretched a hand out and reached to his side of the bed, feeling the wad of pillows he slept amid like some sort of burrowing animal. It made her smile.

She fell asleep like that, one arm outstretched to his side of the bed, hugging an invisible partner. It was nearly four AM when BlackStar finally came in. He was careful not to wake her, because he knew how poor she'd been feeling. He set his bag down in the living room and used the bathroom in the hall to clean off, knowing if he uses the other one in the bedroom he may wake her up accidentally. Once done, he checked the locks around the apartment to ensure that nothing would be getting in while they were asleep, and then entered the bedroom, shutting the door with a soft click.

She was in her duck pajamas, her robe on the floor in a pool next to the bed. He smiled as he thought of how utterly ridiculous those things looked on her. He couldn't make too much fun though, because they made her happy. They were what she always went to when she felt bad, and he used the presence of the flannel night clothes to interpret her state of mind before she had fallen asleep. A glass of water and medicine by the bed said that she'd been feeling bad, too, but he knew her well enough that he wouldn't have needed those to confirm anything.

He approached her slowly, leaning over her to rest a hand on her forehead. She was cool, thankfully, and her cheeks are their same cream colour with no feverish flush to them. He didn't ever want to wake up to her puking and wrecked with a high fever again, and not just because he ended up cleaning it all up. He hesitated for a second, looking at her face illuminated in the pale moonlight from the strip glimmering through the window. He was still even for another second further, and then leaned further in and pressed his lips to her forehead, forming a chaste kiss. If she woke up, he would tell her he was checking for a fever. It would be a lie, but she would not mind.


	2. 002: Ocean Breeze

I do not own Soul Eater; I do not profit from this writing.

**002**

_Ocean Breeze_

Liz opened her eyes slowly, remembering that she needed to roll over or else she was going to burn. She sat up, checked her watch, and then realized that one third of their trio was missing. Around them, the waves slid up and down the surface of the rather secluded beach, and seagulls chased what patrons were present, trying to steal ice cream from them.

Patti sat on her own bright yellow and blue towel, eating some of that ice cream. She had a floppy straw hat tipped low over her face, one hand atop it as a strong ocean breeze through and threatened to blow it off and out to sea. "Hey, look!" she shouted. "That bird is trying to make friends!"

Liz turned to see what her little sister was pointing at, and her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. The bird was literally dive-bombing a man who was running at top speed towards the parking lot. He threw his cone over his shoulder and the bird circled him once, then dropped to the ground to tend to its newfound treat.

"I don't know about that," she said under her breath. Aloud, she said, "Where did Kid go?"

Patti grinned and pointed about twenty yards down, where Liz spied him hunched over the sand. She pushed her sunglasses up on the bridge of her nose and stood, hands brushing loose sand off of her flat stomach and backside. She slipped her feet into her sandals and began the walk over to him.

"What are you _doing_?" she asked, kneeling down next to him. She idly cleared away her arrow-straight hair, strands of the dark blonde and light brown mixture threatening to stick in her lipgloss.

"I'm building a replica of the academy," he said plainly, never once taking his golden eyes from the sand he was carving. He rocked back onto his ankles, the thin, sharp plastic tool he'd been using to perfect some of the smaller detail dangling from his fingertips.

"What do you think?" he asked, finally looking at her.

She leaned in for a closer look. "Wow, Kid. This is really... symmetrical," she said. She looked up at him and smiled.

"YOU REALLY THINK SO?" he beamed.

"Absolutely," she said. "Now, can you come and put lotion on my back so I don't burn? I don't want any strange or uneven tan lines," she said with a hint of warning. He had just opened his mouth to protest her demand when they both heard Patti yelling.

"HEY YOU STUPID BIRD YOU'D BETTER GET AWAY!"

"Patti?" Liz called, cupping her hands to her mouth as she shouted. "You'd probably be better not antagonizing him!" she advised, speaking of the seagull who had spotted her tasty chocolate snack.

Patti got up and tore through the sand, straight at Kid and Liz, the cone still in her hand. "I don't get it, he just had like four, why would he want mine?" she said, a very dumbfounded tone to her voice. At that exact moment, the top of her ice cream finally gave way to the heat of the afternoon sun and began to slide. It slid and slid, and before anyone noticed, it had landed with a -thump- on Kid's creation.

Liz and Patti both gasped, and Kid made a choking noise. They watched in horror as the replica of the academy, so perfect in every detail, collapsed in slow motion, falling in rubble into the sand from which it had come.

"Nnn!" Kid cried.

"Aw, Kid, I'm sorry!" Patti said. She looked at her sister, who looked back at her with a 'Now you've done it' face. Patti put her hand on his bare shoulder. "I'm really sorry. I can help you build another one?" she offered.

He broke off into wailing about how it wouldn't be centered or symmetrical and that she'd sabotaged his castle because she was trying to torture him and what had he ever done to deserve that sort of thing from the universe and he was lower than the shit on the bottom of someone's shoe and she should kill him right then.

Liz crept up to the other side of him and nodded to her sister. Simultaneously, both of the blondes leaned in and planted kisses on either of his cheeks, in the exact same spot at the exact same time. At once, his sobbing stopped and he sat bolt upright, hands covering his eyes.

"Ahh-hahaha -," he said, turning a violent shade of crimson. "That both of you could devise a plan to destroy my beautiful work of art to drive me mad is one thing, but that both of you have figured out an equally embarrassing and yet effective way to snap me out of it is quite another," he confessed, narrowing his golden eyes at them suspiciously. "I feel this is something you will learn to abuse."

Liz and Patti threw their heads back and laughed as hard as the seagulls sang.


	3. 003: Hot

I do not own Soul Eater; I do not profit from this writing.

**003**

_Hot_

Maka opens her eyes, and Spirit is there to see her. Maka says her first word, "Dada", and Spirit is there to hear her. Maka takes her first steps, and Spirit is there to hold her. Maka falls and skins her knee, and Spirit is there to comfort her.

Spirit thinks of these days often, especially now that his little girl is all grown up. He thinks of all of the women he has wasted his love on, his compulsions and aberrations and the things he's lost so much time over because of his selfish and thoughtless nature. He regrets all of his behaviour, because every time he sees his baby girl, all tall and loud and confident and able, she looks at him with her green eyes and in them he can see disappointment.

At current, Spirit fully did not expect for her to overlook his past transgressions and allow his presence during a moment of great importance. He adjusts the red flower in his lapel, smoothing back his dark burgundy hair once more. He checks his reflection in a nearby mirror, though it is not out of vanity but out of nervousness. He is fearful that if he says or does the wrong thing, Maka will oust him from the building and he'll be forced to try and hide in the bushes outside – and then he'll be accused of being a peeping Tom! He gulps at the thought of it, finger swiping his neckline as he struggles to loosen his suddenly too-tight tie. Black, with red stripes.

He hears her from the next room swearing loudly, and her voice edges with pain and trembles with oncoming tears. Without thinking of what she will do to him for interrupting, he bursts through the doors to find her seated at a vanity, an angry stare reserved not for him but for the thing of her burden: a curling iron now thrown on the far side of the room, come to rest on the tile by the door. He bends down to pick it up, uttering a quick, "Ouch!" as he realizes it is as hot as the surface of the vigilant and panting sun above Death City that day.

"Did you burn yourself, Maka?" he asks stupidly. He was never good at initiating any sort of conversation with his daughter, and even now after so many years he feels like a bull in a China shop, fumbling clumsily in desperation to leave the beauty untouched.

She said nothing at first, looking at him with her big green eyes. For a moment, her face is frozen with dual expressions: first, the shock of having her Papa burst into her dressing room; second: the utter stress of striving for perfection under an incredibly high level of stress without Soul by her side for support.

Spirit offers her a comforting smile, his eyes drinking in the scene before him. Looking resplendent on the wooden stool in front of the ornate mahogany vanity, the top of which is littered with cosmetics and various hair products, is Maka Albarn. Her long, dirty-blonde hair has been pulled back, the upper-most layer a French-braid that seems to net the rest of it. On the center of each crossing is a tiny flower; the blooms alternate in white and red. The ends are not secured, somehow holding on their own, though Spirit does suspect the tall silver product may be hairspray, and all but one last section fall into soft, full curls.

Her green eyes are dusted with the lightest shimmering of shadow, a thin line of black and a helping of mascara – they appear ethereal almost, doll-like and captivating. He has never seen Maka with so many modern beauty products on her, and he realizes that Blair must have had a very large hand in this event. He reminds himself to buy her something later in thanks, and stops himself shortly before his thoughts wander to the image of the beautiful Blair in sexy underwear.

"I don't know if I can do this," his daughter says, her voice wavering. She clenches one hand in the other, eyes cast downward at the top of the vanity, lids lowered in shame for even uttering such a phrase. She has come so very far, so why is a sudden burn from her curling iron going to hold her back?

"Let me see your hand," Spirit says, and though he does say it gently, it is not a request. His daughter reluctantly holds her hand up, and he surveys the tiny burn mark. He is not surprised, given his discovery of the temperature setting the device was on. Very lightly, he kisses her hand, and hands it back to her.

"Better?" he asks.

Maka nods. "Thanks, Papa," she says with a wan smile. "I'd better hurry, or I'm going to be late." She rises to fetch the curling iron, but Spirit puts a hand on her shoulder and urges her to sit back down.

"Let me help," Spirit offers. Without further ado, the iron is retrieved and he moves to her back, lifting the last section of hair and winding it carefully around the ceramic spiral. He holds it for fifteen seconds, and then gently releases it. "What now?" he asks, and then accepts the can of spray Maka hands back to him. He dusts her entire style with it lightly, and then moves to her side and holds out a hand. "Let me see," he encourages her.

Reluctantly, Maka twirls on his hand, then lowers her arms, smoothing over the flowing skirts of nylon, silk and tulle that make up the lower half of her princess-like gown. The top is a simple and strapless white corset, though it is conservative. Spirit knows that Blair did _not_ have a hand in selecting this.

"Maka, you look radiant," he says. His eyes glimmer with tears.

"Papa..." she begins.

"I know I haven't always been the best father, Maka. But I've always loved you, and I will always love you – and you will always be my little girl, so don't try to think you can ever escape that."

"So.. eloquent," she says, a smile of mixed emotions crossing her face. It is not an uncommon facial expression from Maka to Spirit, and he is not offended.

"One last hug, for your dear old dad?" he asks, holding his arms out to her. He is surprised when Maka falls into his arms, and he can hear her make a sobbing noise. "Oh, don't cry," he warns her. He tips her chin up and gently wipes the shadow of a tear from the corner of her eye with his thumb. "You'll ruin all of the hard work Blair put into your makeup."

She smiles up at him in spite of herself. "Thank you, Papa. For everything."

He smiles again, and then steps away, taking her hand and twirling her for another spin, this time even getting her to laugh a little. The door opens again and surprises them, and Liz sticks her head in.

"Sorry to interrupt, but everyone's ready – and by that I mean Kid has finished adjusting the decorations so both sides of the main room are symmetrical. I think we should probably start before he finds something else to adjust," she warns. She skips a beat and then says, "You look gorgeous." She gives Maka a thumbs-up, and then slip back out the door.

"Well, I think that's your cue. Are you ready, Maka?" he asks of his daughter.

She looks at him for a long moment, and says nothing.

"Maka? Are you ready?"

The way he asks it the second time is more serious: he is giving her an opportunity to say no. She is still silent, and he doesn't know what's going through her mind but he believes he has a good idea. Finally, she gives him a firm nod and a smile.

"I think I am," she says.

He gives her another kiss, this time to the top of her hand at her response. "Then may I have the pleasure?" he asks, holding his arm out to escort her.

When the doors of the church open and Spirit stands with Maka, their arms linked while she holds in her hands a bouquet of white and red roses, the entire church gasps. Soul, who stands at the altar, gets a nosebleed, but he manages not to faint.


	4. 004: Cold

I do not own Soul Eater; I do not profit from this writing.

**004**

_Cold_

Eruka did not want to be in London. She was tuned in with frogs. Frogs were amphibians. Amphibians hated the cold. Ergo, Eruka hated the cold. She hated it almost as much as she hated Medusa, which was to say an incredibly great deal, and she displayed this hatred by shivering inside of her thick down coat, her teeth clicking as she uttered the darkest of words that still hung over the frozen wasteland sometime after she had gone.

Free, on the other hand, did not care where they were. He did like the cold, however, because he was hot-blooded by nature. Not only that, but he had a thick and shaggy coat of fur he could sprout at any point in time if the nipping frost became too much for him to bear. None of this was even comparable to the fact that he was outside, out of that prison, and with a rather stunning young Witch who had somehow become stuck with his partnership. He could be cold or hot or wet or dry or even painted orange and pelted with toy ducks – he was _free_, and to not be in that prison meant that he wasn't likely to complain about his state of being at any time for a _long_ time.

They sat outside on the bridge, side by side. They had only arrived hours ago, and they had not yet seen the familiar nuisance that were the students from the academy. They sat there, feet dangling off the edge of the bridge, a few stories above the rushing and icy water, one of the duo hunched and shivering, the other relaxed and comfortable.

"Th-th-th-this is b-b-b-b-_ribbit_," Eruka stuttered, the adjective for which she was going to use being swallowed up by her tic.

"Why don't you go get a hotel room? I can handle these little pests," the werewolf said, a concerned gaze tossed down at his counterpart. He could barely see her face she had it buried into her jacket so far; only her long, silvery-blue hair was visible. Even her _hat_ looked cold.

"N-n-n-no!" she chattered-yelled. "M-M-Medusa will k-k-kill me if I don't s-s-stay and make sure we hold th-th-them of-f-f-f!" She jerked her head up at him, her round eyes squinted in annoyance and her breath puffing out in frosty clouds.

He stared at her, and then grinned. "Okay," he conceded. He stretched his arms out and stood up, walking the length of the cobblestone to the other side of the bridge. He looked down, and then across out at the other roads; after a few moments, he walked back to Eruka, but leaned casually against the wall rather than resuming his position.

"W-w-why are you so w-w-warm?" she demanded, angry at his obvious lack of discomfort. "I f-f-feel like a f-f-f-frogsicle!" she cried.

"Because I'm a w-w-w-werewolf, silly," he said, making fun of her frozen stuttering. He didn't move when she pointed a thickly-mittened and therefore incredibly disproportionate hand at him, and the force akin to a bottle-rocket popped against his chest, burning a hole in his jacket.

"Hey!" he cried. "Just because I'm not cold doesn't mean you can light my clothing on fire! And this was my _good_ jacket," he muttered, brushing the remnants of her magical pyrotechnic off of himself.

"Then d-d-don't make f-f-fun of m-m-m-_ribbit_!" she shot back, hopping off of the railing herself and straightening up angrily.

"Oh, Eruka, I was just playing!" he said, his voice apologetic. "Here, come here," he pleaded, holding his arms out to her. She responded by turning her head in the other direction and sticking what part of her nose that he could see from behind her green scarf in the air. "Eruka!" he exclaimed.

It took a bit of coaxing and even the "puppy eyes" (which he was still able to do, even with that crazy old witch's eye, amazingly) to get her to walk back his way, but she finally did. He enveloped her in his arms, trying to put his excess body heat to good use. Right away, Eruka felt her blood begin to warm, though she couldn't say she entirely attributed it to the heat alone, and she was gradually able to stop her shivering long enough to speak.

"If I say this feels amazing, _ribbit_, you won't take it the wrong way?" she asked, looking up at him. She realized that she came up to the middle of his chest, and at once felt idiotic for her height. She was wearing snow boots, not her normal and quite fashionable heels, and thus she'd lost several inches. She'd never really noticed how _big_ he was before, not until she was pressed directly against him, chest to chest.

"Not unless you keep saying it," he told her. He smiled at her, and it was a different sort of smile than she was used to seeing. It was softer, more honest; when Free smiled, it was more as though he bared his teeth at you, but this was a real expression. Genuine.

In spite of herself, Eruka said, "I don't know, if you smile at me like that again I might." She couldn't help but make a joke, trying to lighten the mood some. She couldn't rightly allow him to make a double-edged joke and get away with it without biting back, right?

For a moment, he said nothing, and then very suddenly he leaned down and planted his lips upon her own. Eruka wanted to gasp, but the moment was so swift that she didn't even have the time. She did have the presence of mind not to stand there afterward with her mouth open like a moron, at least, but only by a small margin. Her lips felt moist and hot from the kiss, and suddenly she realized that she was sweating underneath all of her heavy winter clothing. In fact, if she wanted to really get right down to it, he was making her blood _boil_.

"Free..." she tried. She felt her tongue become clumsy in her mouth as her brain emptied out of all of the articulate things she could have said. There was no joke or prose otherwise that she could think of to assist the thing she was trying to say.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. Was that – was he _blushing_? "I shouldn't have done that. It's just that – well, you _are_ pretty," he tried, unsure of how to proceed here. He cursed himself mentally.

Eruka pushed his arms off of her with a roll of her shoulders, and for a moment Free thought he'd really done it, but then she was ripping her mittens off with her teeth in desperation. Once she'd gotten them off, she lunged at him, both of her small hands at either side of his face. She yanked him down to her height so harshly that he bent at his spine and nearly toppled over. She was kissing him then, the act passionate and frantic.

Free had no actual idea of the duration of time that had passed for that lip-lock she'd initiated, but he knew that they were interrupted by the shouts of the annoying teens that had been dispatched to stop them, and he inwardly groaned. Eruka was biting on his lip and he couldn't think of anything he'd rather be doing at that exact moment. He tried to ignore the yelling as it moved closer, but it became inevitable when he caught the blue-haired one out of the corner of his eye, sweeping in for a kill-shot.

"WHAT'S THIS I SEE, YOU TWO LOVEBIRDS DON'T MIND IF I CRASH YOUR LITTLE PARTY, DO YOU?" he announced.

"I'm really going to smash you, brat," Free promised, shrugging out of Eruka's grip reluctantly. He was going to put that new-found energy to good use, and violence had always been an acceptable avenue.


	5. 005: Fire

I do not own Soul Eater; I do not profit from this writing.

**005**

_Fire_

Mifune does not know why he is doing this. He bites down on the oversized toothpick as he grunts, exerting himself more than necessary to lug the chunks of wood back towards the house. He doesn't want to make two trips, so he's trying to carry more than his share of the wood so that he can save time. It is biting cold outside, and he's eager to be away from the wind.

When he finally gets inside, he kneels down and gingerly stacks the wood by the fireplace, the sound of small footsteps darting back and forth in the other rooms of the house. He hears the back door slam as it opens and closes, and he sits bolt upright, the toothpick falling from his mouth.

"Angela?" he calls, his voice cautious.

Nothing.

Mifune leaps up, nearly tripping on the wood he's just stacked as he runs after her.

"Angela?" he yells. He scans the property with his sharp eyes, but the sun is rapidly setting and he feels fear in his belly.

"Right here!" comes her cheerful, youthful voice. He whips around and she's right behind him, holding up a handful of thin, long sticks she's found from the dead bushes around the house.

"Angela, you shouldn't go outside alone," he reminds her, tone gently chiding. "It's not safe."

"I'm sorry, Mifune," she says, looking truly remorseful. "But I needed sticks! I got them for you so you didn't have to! Can we start now?" she asks, her sorrow forgotten and replaced by hope.

He considers this, and then nods. "I think we should, before it gets to be too late. Your bedtime is not far off," he reminds her.

Angela pouts horribly, but she allows him to lead her back inside. She changes into her pajamas (they are green with tiny yellow and pink lizards on them; they have feet, and they are her favourite) and rushes back out into the living room, where there is a fire roaring.

"Can I have one _now_?" she begs, jumping up and down by the seated samurai's side.

Mifune turns to her and smiles. He holds up a bag of marshmallows to her, and she sticks her tongue out as she digs for one. She then selects a stick to her liking (Mifune has pulled all of the tiny nubs and remaining stems off of them so they are perfectly straight) and thrusts it through the bottom of the squishy marshmallow.

"Now, be careful," he warns her, but she is already jousting at the flames with the confectionery. Mifune watches her like a hawk, but he is impressed with the control she exhibits. A year ago she'd have tried to follow the treat into the flames, if only because they were 'pretty'. She is no longer a toddler, he realizes; his Angela is beginning to grow up.

"Look, it's on fire!" she is shouting, shaking him from his thoughts. She shakes the stick violently and he has to take it from her before she manages to unlodge the marshmallow and fling a flaming, sticky projectile across the room.

"Blow," he commands. She leans forward and blows hard, extinguishing the flames. He then holds the stick out to her, with the warning, "Be careful, it's very hot."

Angela waits as long as she can stand it, which is to say not very, and then crams the delicious reward into her mouth. She manages to burn herself, but she has too much pride even now, and so she eats it without any indication that the treat is anything less than perfect.

She continues this cycle of setting the marshmallows on fire and then gobbling them until Mifune fears that she will have had so much sugar that she won't be able to sleep at all. She's cut off between number eight and nine, which is already far too many where his opinion is concerned, and she obediently runs off to go brush her teeth and wash her face.

Mifune tucks her in, and she begs for a story. He selects one from the many books she has, but she doesn't make it past two pages before she falls asleep. He is incredibly grateful for this, because he knows that at the crack of dawn she is going to be awake and running through the halls at top speed. He leans down and drops a kiss on her forehead before laying her favourite stuffed toy next to her.

"Goodnight, my little witch," he says softly, before turning out the light and exiting the room.


End file.
